War! The Republic is crumbling under attacks by the ruthless Sith Lord, Count Dooku. There are heroes on both sides. Evil is everywhere…
The war drums echoed over the Republic Cruiser's bridge, deep and relentless as the stars themselves. Standing beside Obi-Wan Kenobi at the viewport, Jace Shan folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed beneath the hood of his brown cloak.
The flicker of battle outside was a beautiful kind of chaos — starships maneuvering through laser fire, the skies above Christophis alive with conflict. Jace's purple blade hadn't seen much action yet today. But the itch in his fingers told him it wouldn't be long.
"Master," Jace said, voice calm but laced with that usual edge of sarcasm, "I'm assuming we're not here to watch the light show?"
Obi-Wan offered a soft smile, as he often did when Jace was leaning too far into sarcasm. "Patience, Jace. The battle will wait for us. Hopefully, General Skywalker has not rushed ahead without us."
Jace raised an eyebrow. "Skywalker? Rushing ahead? That doesn't sound like him at all."
The cruiser shuddered as it broke through the atmosphere. Jace's mind sharpened, the way it always did when the first notes of danger began to rise. Quietly, almost reflexively, he reached out through the Force — not just to sense the enemy, but to touch the battlefield itself, steadying the Republic soldiers' resolve even before the first clash.
The technique was natural to him. His ancestors' gift: Battle Meditation. Bastila's legacy, passed down in his blood.
And though he was still a learner, the threads of that power wove through him like breath and heartbeat.